


WIP Dean & Charlie are bros

by totallybemused



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awesome Charlie Bradbury, Charlie Lives, Gen, Minor Violence, they didn't mean it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 08:35:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11332218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totallybemused/pseuds/totallybemused
Summary: In progress, working it out. Not sure where it's going but for now Dean and Charlie repair to a bar and have giggly-fun-times (Charlie) and angsty I'm-a-bad-friend times (Dean). Just a fragment, don't know if will finish.





	WIP Dean & Charlie are bros

**Author's Note:**

> Brushing up on my HTML skills and grammar, so bear with me. If you notice something that bothers you, I'd be happy to hear about it. Format, spelling, grammar and wording may change without notice.

Dean nursed his beer miserably, knowing he was already a little too lit to drive home. The dive bar outside of Lawrence had been arguably his favorite feature of the area when they first took over the bunker, with its reasonably stable roster of regulars and plenty of patrons just passing through.  
"Perfect," had been his assessment on his second or third visit. The ideal place to hustle some pool or local lore, meet a fellow hunter to exchange information, or hunt an anonymous hookup. Or, y'know, while away an off night with burgers and beers, of which he'd been doing too much lately with little but time on his hands.  
————  
Sam had been at his wits end with his morose brother when Charlie showed up at the bunker. "It's time to partay, bitches! The world didn't end! Again." She cut a goofy face and tripped lightly down the stairs.  
Dean shifted in his seat at the library table, barely shifting his thousand-yard stare to brush past her, then reached for another book. Sam threw his hands up with an exasperated sound.  
Charlie dropped her duffel at the end of the table and paced to Dean as if approaching a large, wounded wild animal. She framed his face in her palms and slowly drew his gaze to meet hers. "Woah. Earth to Dean, are you in there?"  
He shook himself minutely as her hands dropped to her sides, and focused on her face for the first time, then dove into her midriff for a hug. Charlie clasped her hands across his rumpled hair and stared incredulously at Sam as his older brother clasped her in his arms and burrowed his face into her shirt like a kicked puppy.  
"Sorry, kid, it's great to see you." Dean sat back in his chair and tried to smile up at her, ending up with a grimace that elicited a rueful grin. She patted his hand and sank into the next chair. "I guess I'm having a hard time adjusting to every...everything? I can't convince myself it's all over. That everything will be okay.  
She pushed her hair back behind her ears and said, "Dean, trust me, I get that. I fucking died, dude. Bloody mess, burnt up on a pyre, buried crispy-critter D-I-E-D and I'm right here, reconstituted by the hand of Go...uh...Chuck Hisself. None of the things that any of us went through were take-a-spa-day-get-over-it kind of things. Of course everything feels weird and unsettled. Of course it'll take time—lots of time—to adjust. That just means you're not a sociopath. Y'know, anymore." She winked a big cheesy wink at him. "Now whaddaya say we hit a bar and see who can pick up a girl first?"  
-———  
He watched suspiciously from the corner of his eye as Charlie bounced back from the jukebox, pausing halfway to mime the World's Most Triumphant Fist-pump as the first of her songs began to play.  
Charlie had a thousand 'favorite songs,' the weirder and poppier the better, and uncanny luck at finding them on jukeboxes. She danced frenetically back to her adjoining barstool, downed the shot the bartender set down, and made an exaggerated 'one more' sign in a big circle between herself, Dean, and Avery, the hot new drinks-slinger.  
"Charlie, you dance like a Fraggle and make it look hot, you're not half as drunk as you're pretending to be, and if anybody but you played even one of those songs in here there'd be a riot over who got to shoot the jukebox first. How many quarters did you put in that damn thing?" Avery set up two new shots and poured herself a ginger-ale.  
Charlie doubled down on her drunk act and wobbled out, "Sooo-hic!-so many! Allllll the quarters."  
Avery winked at Dean when he winced mid-shot, whispering, "I only gave her a couple bucks change. But why is she doing your patented, 'about to take a few bills off a haircut in a polo shirt' act?"  
He slid his thumbnail across his throat at Avery. "I really am as drunk as she's pretending to be: I'm cutting myself off. Dunno why she's acting weird--why does she ever?"  
Raising an eyebrow inqisitively, she jerked her chin at the coffeemaker. "Nah, then I'll just be drunk and wide awake. I'll have what you're having." Avery set up another old-fashioned glass and shot it full of ginger ale, pushing it toward Dean with one finger.  
Charlie's rowdy caw of, "Cause Dean's depressed, and I'm gonna cheer him up!" caught him off guard, but the raucous slap to his ass where it jutted off the barstool caught him just a little too close to his balls. Charlie squeaked and Dean looked down to see his hand had caught her wrist on the follow-through and his fingers were digging into her flesh as if she'd really attacked him, rather than just mis-judging a silly gesture.  
Numbly, he let go and his heart fell as she involuntarily clutched the wrist to her chest, face slack and heartbroken. Perfect. He slid off the barstool away from her, wincing. He dropped a credit card on the bar and turned to leave. "Welp, I'll throw myself out. I'm so sorry, Charlie. Sam will drive you whenever you're ready, or call a cab on my dime. Have a better night, both of you."  
Halfway to the door he heard her little feet pattering up behind and turned, hands balled in his pockets. Charlie grabbed handfuls of layers above each breast pocket of his flannel and pulled him down to hug. "Jeezly Pete, Dean I'm sorry. Not cool; please don't be scarred for life?!" He unfroze enough to hug her back, wrapping her up to lift her feet just a sliver off the floor and drop a smooch in her hair.  
"My bad, kiddo. I'm sorry I hurt your arm. Not your fault I'm wound too tight." He set her on her feet and she bounced a step back, releasing him with a sheepish grin.  
"I felt it was gonna land wrong, but it was too late to pull it. How bad are you hurt?" She linked arms with him and started back to the bar.  
"Pssssht. Foreplay." He put on an exaggerated limp and groaned through a few steps, pulling her off balance and steadying her again. "Not sure I'll ever play the piano again, but..."  
"Ewwww, Dean, I can't believe you just made me picture that with my own brain." He leered comically as she made gag faces. "Which part, cock-piano or ball-spanking?"  
She squeezed his arm tighter as she hopped back on her stool, then let go as he aped gingerly resettling himself. "No, none of those things, never mentioning them again; changing the subject forever. Made you smile, tho. Remind me next time you get all maudlin to just punch you in the junk."


End file.
